


What Might Have Once Been Beauty

by RavenSinead



Category: Dragon Age: Origins
Genre: Eventual Romance, F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-05
Updated: 2014-09-05
Packaged: 2018-02-16 05:38:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,843
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2257836
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RavenSinead/pseuds/RavenSinead
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>What is reflected when we look into a mirror? What can another see that we cannot? And can that sight open doors so often slammed shut out of fear and anger?</p>
            </blockquote>





	What Might Have Once Been Beauty

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: All characters and settings belong to BioWare. I own nothing.

            _‘Tis not that she lacks attractive qualities,_ Morrigan slid a delicate, filed nail across her teeth as she watched what she most definitely considered “antics” of her compatriots. _Simply that there is no need to indulge a curiosity that has no purpose in existence._

            The wardens and the rest of their motley group, the dwarf, the bard, the _hypocrite_ mage, the qunari, the assassin, and the golem had stumbled across an expansive lake beneath the earth. At this point, in the witch’s mind, all manner of uproarious hell had broken loose. Clothing was stripped and tossed to the ground, weapons discarded, all sorts of ridiculous challenges issued.

            _Riding atop another’s shoulders and attempting to unseat another in the same precarious position… **ridiculous.** What possesses them to indulge in such foolishness? We were in the bath houses yesternight…there is no reason beneath the sun for this indulgence. _

Morrigan sighed. She had not wanted to join the wardens; the ignorant buffoon with his upswept hair and strange sensibilities, not to mention his penchant for stuttering and flinging accusations against practices and people that he knew not one whit about.

            _But the other…_ Morrigan watched the group of…well…they were quite probably friends, excluding herself, splashing about in the frigid underwater lake; a well-kept secret of the dwarves of Orzammar, and the reason they could withstand any siege, no matter the forces arrayed against them.

            The witch focused on the Dalish warden, her lips turning down in a frown of contemplation as she remembered her first meeting with Risa Mahariel. The woman had held a spark, an insouciant reverence for the ground she tread upon, knowing that it was not hers; a respect for the magic that had been disturbed and protected again. Whereas the others…the _others_ …had screamed about witches, apostates, and _swooping_ , in addition to the immense possibility that they were fated for the stewpot of some wart-covered hag.

            But Risa had shown no fear when Morrigan had appeared before them, melding from the forest itself like some ancient nymph. Her eyes had gleamed in appreciation of the skill, and she had bowed, speaking formal words of greeting in the Dalish tongue. She had remained as fearless, as respectful, even when introduced to Flemeth.

            _She bowed…greeted mother by the old name. Asha’belannar. The other ingrates merely flapped about and flung insults of various heat, none of them strong enough to burn. Then Ostagar…and **both** of them in my home, Alistair all but choking me with his thick cloak of frenzied worry. He calmed when she woke…and mother spoke to me of the similarities between her and I…I did not believe her then, but now…perhaps ‘twas that they were ever-present, yet only now evidenced._

Looking at the warden was akin to gazing into an inverse mirror. Risa’s skin held the pigment of sun-warmed clay, whereas Morrigan’s complexion was pale as the full moon. During her illness, Risa’s hair had gone stark white, the extreme opposite of the witch’s raven tresses. The elf’s eyes were as icy as Morrigan’s were warm, a frigid blue juxtaposed against the shape-shifter’s gold.

            It had been disconcerting, at first, to even look at the warden, for her name meant laughter, and she embodied the meaning. Morrigan’s frown deepened, thinking that such a woman, enduring what she had, would be cold to the world. Instead, Risa exuded a cheery warmth, a constant curiosity, and an appreciation for all things arcane.

            Morrigan sat down, idly examining the warden’s lithe body as she moved through the transparent water with little effort, as though she could become one with the element. If anything, Risa was as fluid as the liquid, adapting to any situation no matter the circumstances, thinking on her feet, finding a common ground with all of them. All of them…save the witch.

            _Though not for lack of attempts_. Morrigan shook her head, recalling every night at camp, after all others had retired, the inquisitive little minx had managed to find herself at Morrigan’s fire, plying the witch with all manner of inappropriate questions. _What was most inappropriate was that I deigned to answer_ … _and **honestly**_. The witch cringed, wondering when she had felt safe enough to confide in another.

            “You look more snarly than the norm.” the woman over whom she had been meditating stood before her now, dripping water onto the stone as it caught and trickled down the lines of her defined musculature.

            Her white, soaked underclothes left little to the imagination as golden eyes roved over Risa’s high, round breasts, the nipples puckered and hardened by a dip in the cold lake, the dark thatch of hair prominent at the juncture of her thighs. A saucy smile lit the wardens chiseled, utterly feminine features as she tucked her hair behind her ear, cocked her hip, and those icy eyes _warmed_ , stirring something in the witch that made her most decidedly uncomfortable.

            “See anything you like?” the warden asked.

            “‘Tis nothing I do not myself possess, so I do not see the reason for heightened appreciation.” Morrigan quipped, though her eyes would not look away.

            “What reason need you have?” Risa stretched, an unconsciously provocative motion. “And would you not prefer hands that know your body, that can translate your wants and needs without request?”

            “I thought ‘twould be Zevran who drove me unto distraction with lecherous advances.” Morrigan frowned, attempting to will the Dalish elf away, to leave her _alone_ , to leave her in _peace_.

            “Where is the fun in that?” Risa threw on her dry tunic and sat beside the witch, too close for comfort, closer than a friend… _were they friends_ …should be. “You are ever so much more entertaining when prickled, and I am in sore need of enjoyment.”

            “Why not return to your watersport then?” Morrigan cast a derisive glare on the others as the bard executed a stealth attack on Alistair, plunging his, until now, dry head beneath the water in a smooth motion. “‘Tis certain you will derive more delight from that than your attempt to turn me ‘prickled’ as you so delightfully put it.”

            “I _could_ ,” Risa pretended to consider the idea, “but then I would not have your thorny company all to myself, and I am _quite_ the jealous woman.”

            Morrigan clenched her hands into fists as an unwanted warmth flushed her cheeks. The thought of being wanted, of being _cherished_ …she had not even considered it. She was her own, none had ever been jealous of her time or sought out her company.

            _And ‘tis **well** that it is so,_ her thoughts declared, smug and triumphant.

            “You are in such good humor,” Morrigan sniffed, derisive, “I am shocked that you do not seek out the bard’s company. She certainly has the affinity for your sort of,” she waved her hand, at a loss for adequate words, “fripperies.”

            The dismissive gesture did not have the desired effect. Instead, it _widened_ the **_infuriating_** warden’s smile, and she had the audacity to laugh.

            “You forget, Morrigan,” Risa’s tone darkened, her voice lilting as she spoke the common tongue with her sing-song Dalish accent, “that I am a creature born of forest and of earth. Leliana is of cities and stone, and not at all what I find myself… _desiring_.”

            “You would do well to cease that manner of speech this instant.” Morrigan hissed, thinking that if disdain would not dissuade the warden, surely anger would. “I have conveyed to you before my preferences, and if you cease in your feigned ignorance, this will become a hindrance between…whatever it is we share.”

            Risa’s eyes looked wounded, and for the first time, Morrigan thought she might understand the concept of shame. But the warmth of victory infused her, driving away the confusion from that small glimpse of fallacious emotion.

            “You still would not call it a friendship?” Risa asked. “Not even after a quarter-year? You wound me, Morrigan,” that canny grin lit her features again, “would you like…”

            “I have seen you naked, and witnessed your battle scars.” Morrigan chastised. “Your body holds no temptation for me, nor does your mind. I would sooner fornicate with the buffoon.” she gestured to Alistair, who had engaged into a full-blown splash war with…Shale, of all the unfortunate enemies.

            “You think yourself so immune to temptation, unassailable by emotion.” Risa muttered, looking defeated, much to the witch’s satisfaction. “Perhaps now is the time…”

            With that cryptic utterance, the elf jumped to her feet and began rustling through the packs until she came upon a small object, wrapped carefully in a layer of thick, protective canvas. With a sly grin, she again took a seat at the witch’s side, handing her the parcel as though it were naught but a cheese, or a bundle of herbs for potions.

            Raising a finely trimmed eyebrow, Morrigan unwrapped the canvas, fighting to restrain a gasp as the contents unveiled themselves, and a small mirror fell into her hands. The back of it was thick, heavy, gleaming gold, inlaid with gems that glittered with an inner fire; royal blue sapphires, blood-red rubies, ornate emeralds, all perfectly cut to catch the light and reflect their vibrant hues.

            “‘Tis…” Morrigan stuttered, for the first time losing her impeccable, hard-earned composure, “‘tis a near perfect replica of…”

            “The mirror Flemeth shattered.” Risa finished, her voice sultry and low, concealing their conversation from the ears of those nearby. “Look into it, Morrigan, and see what I see.”

            Morrigan, stunned by the thoughtfulness of the gift and giver, turned the mirror over, examining her reflection with a detached gaze. “‘Tis what might have once been beauty,” she feathered her hands over the gleaming, costly mirrored glass, “if given the chance.” it was the child in her that breathed the last words, the child who had sought a life beyond the Korcari wilds, who imagined herself in dresses and gowns, on the arm of someone handsome…attentive… _jealous._

            “It _is_ beauty.” Risa whispered, her full lips nearly touching the witch’s ear. “The beauty of the wilds, the face of the bear, the wolf, the spider. It is a reflection of all that you are, all that _I_ see in you, and wish to know more of. We are a kind, Morrigan, wild, un-chainable… _feral_.”

            The witch shivered as Risa’s words coursed through her veins, burning her blood hotter than raw lyrium.

            “Think on that, emm’asha,” Risa laid her teeth against Morrigan’s ear and lightly nipped, leaving the witch stunned, dizzied, unable to bring an acidic rebuff to bear. “And I shall return to the business of enjoyment. After all, there is great satisfaction in finding oneself completely… _wet_.”

            The Dalish rogue got to her feet in a smooth motion, her hips swaying suggestively as she sauntered back to the lake, leaving the witch gazing between her form and the mirror. Morrigan eyed the reflection once more before her gaze fixed on Risa Mahariel, and she felt the stirrings of the only emotion she had ever indulged.

            _Curiosity._


End file.
